


Chance Meeting

by MedicBaymax



Category: Captain America (Movies), MacGyver (TV 1985)
Genre: Gen, Hypoglycemia, Whump, Wilderness, cabin fic?, stranded in a snowstorm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 19:58:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20895269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MedicBaymax/pseuds/MedicBaymax
Summary: Mac and Bucky end up stranded in a snowstorm in the Hungarian countryside, and the Winter Soldier isn't doing so hot. Consider it a pre-make of season 6's "Humanity". Posted a while ago on tumblr based on a prompt that posited that the serum given to Bucky caused hypoglycemia.





	Chance Meeting

January 1987, Somewhere in the Hungarian Countryside

Mac watched the man pace the small front room of the old farmhouse. He was tall and almost comically muscular even beneath the dark parka, with chin-length dark hair and grease pencil around his eyes. With the size of his torso Mac could only assume the parka was also concealing some form of body armor, though in the nearly 24 hours they’d been stranded together, he hadn’t seen the guy take it off or even loosen it. On the shoulder of the coat was a red star, promising an allegiance that left Mac wary.

Despite his best efforts the man hadn’t said a word to him. A few annoyed grunts to Mac’s intermittent stabs at conversation, sure, but for the time they’d been huddled, literally in the same room, Mac hadn’t even determined if they shared a language. The man had seemed content mostly with spending his time staring out the window at the bleak snowscape- the worst snowstorm to hit Hungary in decades.

Just their luck.

But lucky they’d been, in one sense. Their shared refuge looked like it had been abandoned in a hurry. Food and clothing was gone, but larger furniture items had been left, presumably too bulky to pack. What had undoubtedly been a bad situation for the family living there had been a stroke of fortune to Mac and his new companion. Among the remaining pieces was an old but still-working woodstove, which had happily accepted pieces of carefully cannibalized furniture. At least, as long as the furniture had held out.

“That’s it.” Mac said, pushing the last piece of chair into the stove. “No chance it’s stopped snowing out there, huh?” The man looked at Mac briefly, narrowed his eyes, and then turned back to the window. “That’s very helpful, thank you.” Mac looked around for a few minutes, feeling a sense of tense isolation he wasn’t sure how to describe. Outside the window, the snow had appeared to die down a little. A tree across the way was barely visible in a way it hadn’t been an hour ago.

“Uh, it’s gonna get kinda cold in here once this stops burning- what do you say you and I go see if they left us any fire wood?” Mac got up slowly. The woodstove had kept them alive, but it was still cold enough in the room that his muscles had stiffened sitting on the floor.

“They were supposed to come yesterday.” The man said suddenly. The words were flawless, with a distinctly American accent. Mac paused, a sense of unease coming over him. He had assumed the man was Soviet, but the accent seemed to indicate otherwise.

“Who’s ‘they’?” Mac asked. Undercover DXS? CIA? KGB? HIT? It would certainly help if “they” were someone Pete could call up for a diplomatic conversation. The man didn’t answer, but at long last Mac decided it was something they could talk about when they weren’t in danger of freezing. “Listen, I got a lot of questions and quite frankly that’s a cat you can’t put back in the bag. But I also don’t want to freeze to death, which is what’s gonna happen if we don’t find something else to burn. So… help me out?“

The man only nodded in reply.

In the end, if there was a woodshed, it was too buried in snow to find. They ended up trudging back and forth from a dilapidated barn carrying armfuls of feed hay instead. It wasn’t ideal, but again, lucky to have anything that wasn’t part of the shelter itself. The snow was deep, and after more than an hour of work, they might have bought two hours of warmth. Mac would have kept going- another hour might have set them up for the evening with careful planning- but his companion seemed to be struggling more than he expected.

“Let’s go inside for a minute and warm up, huh?” Mac suggested.

“I’m fine.” The man shook his head angrily, then continued unevenly towards the door. When he turned back to get more hay, Mac stood in front of the exit.

“Its cold out there, it’s wet, it’s not going to kill us to sit in front of the fire for five minutes to warm up.” The fire itself had almost died down.

“I said I’m fine!” The man shouted, suddenly punching the wall less than a foot from Mac’s head. The impact left a crater in the plaster-and-lathe wall. Mac ducked back, noting the flash of anger in the man’s eyes almost immediately becoming one of sudden terror. He changed tactics.

“Whoa, okay, how ‘bout we just stay long enough to kindle this fire back up, then we work until it gets dark.” Mac said. The man’s eyes still were wide with fear. “It’s fine, you’re okay, I’m okay, we’re just…” The man backed down and Mac let out a sigh of relief.

The fire had all but gone out, but the room was still delightfully warm after the blizzard outside. Mac settled uneasily back to sitting on the floor by the wood stove and picked up a handful of hay blades. “So, uh, you ever read The Long Winter as a kid?” The man stared at him with an intensely blank expression. “It’s fine if you haven’t- see, once they ran out of firewood they started twisting straw into straw logs, which decreased the surface area and the amount of oxygen that could get to the straw and basically made it so they would burn longer. I’m hoping we can make something similar happen with this hay. Here-” Mac demonstrated twisting the blades together. To his honest surprise, the man seemed to try to mirror him.

“You got it.” Mac encouraged, noting an odd sort of smile play on the man’s face.

But several bundles later, Mac started to get worried. He’d assumed the man’s unsteady gait and shaking had been a result of the cold, but it had been a while since they’d been inside, and Mac had more than recovered himself. His companion, however, seemed to be shaking even more than he had outside and was having increasing difficulty with the bundles of hay. Something else was going on.

“So you blew up my truck, you killed my asset and put people relying on his intel in jeopardy. I spent a lot of last night worrying you might up and decide to kill me too. Then I hear you speak American English with a New York accent. What do you say I’ll answer a question if you do?” The man grunted non-committaly.

“Fair- I’m happy going first- you mentioned ‘they.’ I assume that’s an exfil team. What made you mention them?” Mac asked. “Were they supposed to kill me when they got here yesterday or do something for you?” The man scowled. “Both?”

Mac sighed as he threw another bundle into the fire. Something was going on, and it was getting worse. “Listen, I know you’re trained not to talk, but that’s not what this is about anymore and I’m not going to hurt you- in fact if you’re working for anyone besides the DXS and you end up dead, this is probably going to be an international incident. And right now I don’t think you’re doing so hot. Help me out a little here.” In the light from the fire, Mac could see a sheen of sweat on the man’s face. He again didn’t respond.

“You’re irritable, you’re shaking, you’re pale, and even though its barely above freezing in here, you’re sweating… are you withdrawing from something?” Nothing. Then something dawned on Mac. It was a long shot, but if it was true at least they’d have a starting point. “It’s been over 24 hours since either of us ate- have you ever been told you have a problem with blood sugar?” The man looked like he was going to say something, but didn’t.

“You’re not lookin’ to make this easy for me, are you?” If it was blood sugar, though, that was something relatively solvable. Even if it was withdrawal or hypothermia, either of those would be easier to weather with some sugar on board. The question now was- where would he get sugar?

Mac looked out the window. Not only was it getting dark now, but the snow looked worse. There was objectively no food left in the house, and this late in winter, his options for wild sugar were pretty much inner pine bark and acorn starch if he could dig deep enough to find some- and acorns were… energy intensive to make edible. That wasn’t even acknowledging that if he left to forage for something, he was seriously risking getting lost or hypothermia. If it were just him, he’d much rather shelter in place until the sun came up.

But it wasn’t just him. He had to think of something, preferably while his companion could still safely eat…

Mac thought as he twisted the hay into yet another bundle. The man hadn’t so much as tried to pick up another handful of hay. “Okay, okay. I got something. When I was a kid my grandpa Harry won a bet. Ended up with this ancient, diabetic horse. You wouldn’t know it by the way he talked about it, but he loved that thing.” The man’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t worry, this story gets better- there’s usable sugar in hay, but humans, we can eat hay but we can’t really digest it. We’d never be able to get enough into you to matter. Fortunately, I used to go out and have to soak that old horse’s hay to pull the sugars out of it. I’m thinking we might be able to use that same process to extract some sucrose into water if you feel like doing nothing except drinking really terrible tea and peeing all night.” The man looked dubious, but Mac couldn’t really tell. “You think about it, I’m going to get things started.”

They’d been melting snow on the wood stove for drinking water in a worn old pot that had been left behind. It didn’t get it very warm with the size of the fire they’d been able to make, but it was good enough. Mac set about inspecting individual blades of hay for signs of mold, and then crumbling the best ones into the pot. With nothing else to do, Mac talked while he worked. “There’s a reason we can’t reasonably make ethanol from grass, right? Pulling the sugars out of grass into water is driven by a concentration gradient and even under the best of circumstances, we might get a solution that’s 1-2% sucrose. Honestly, since we don’t know how old this hay is, even heating up the water, I’m aiming for 0.5-1%. But it’s what we’ve got.”

At the 20 minute mark, Mac beckoned the man over to the pot. “Here- dip your hands in it so they strain out the hay pieces as much as possible.” Mac demonstrated. The man still looked shaky and unsteady, but not significantly worse since they’d started the process. Mac really, really hoped it was blood sugar. The man paused.

“I swear its not poison.” To prove it, Mac took a drink from his hands. It didn’t taste as terrible as he thought it would, a little earthy, and the vague hint of sweetness told him there was at least some sugar getting pulled out of the old hay. To his near surprise, the man copied him. “Okay, that’s good- keep drinking. Like I said, you’re gonna have to do this most of the night.” The man obediently finished the first pot of hay tea. Before Mac had completely finished dumping the dregs of the first batch and making the second, he could tell the man was already feeling a little better. He couldn’t believe that had worked.

By the fourth gallon in two hours, they were almost out of hay, but Mac was confident enough to leave the man in the house making hay logs while he went to get more.

Mac tried to make stabs of conversation, but after the danger was past and confident neither would kill the other in their sleep, Mac found himself dozing in between pots of tea and trips to the barn for more hay.

Mac woke suddenly to the man shaking his arm roughly. There was sun finally streaming through a window that was half-covered in snow. The fire had died down. “Get up. Leave now- before they get here.” The man ordered urgently. Once Mac got his wits about him, he could hear a faint commotion in the front of the house. He nodded, getting up stiffly and making for the back exit. The snow was more than 3 feet deep, but luckily, they’d kept up a path to the barn. Mac figured he could hide there until the man’s exfil team left. He made to leave, but the man caught his arm.

“Thank you.”

Mac made eye contact and nodded. “Any time.”


End file.
